Sweet Kisses
by Nata
Summary: Written in Collins' point of view post-RENT. It's very depressing, but I like it. :) Lower rating for language. Lots of language ... o.O


People with AIDS always say that you learn to deal with pain. Loss. Suffering. Death. It's not fucking true. I've had it for years now; because of a shit blood donation. Didn't clean the needle. Shows what happens to goddamn 'good samaritains'. If anything, it's gotten harder. Especially now. My best friends are sick, and dying all around me. Mimi almost died. Roger isn't far behind her. Me ... well, I don't know where I am. I'm alone. Just like Mark. Mark and me, we're a pair now. Too bad he'll never, ever understand me. Never. No one will. That's because I'm gone. I'm a fucking shell of who I used to be. And that's because of AIDS. It's ... over. Angel ... My Angel. My sweet, perfect Angel is dead.   
  
Dead.   
  
She'll never come back. She's a damn skeleton in the freezing ground never to come back to life in her lovely, wonderful self. And it's all because of ... AIDS. Accuired Immune Diffecency Syndrome. It sounds so innocent. Sounds like a cold, or flu or something. But it's not. It's a vicious, sadistic sickness that wipes out the best of people in a fucking year. It's my fault she's dead. I could've gotten a job, or something. Gone back to work at NYU. Anything. If she'd have gotten help then she wouldn't have died. At least not so soon ... Why did I have to be the one to live? The others can't live without her ... she was our lifeline. She was the one who reminded them that there's no fucking day but today. Angel was the one who taught them to love and be loved. Unconditionally. She was selfless. She cared for others before herself.   
  
Why could I have died?  
  
They don't need me. I don't help them. They probably didn't even remember me when me and Angel went to Santa Fe to look at resturaunt prospects. My old students at the University couldn't have cared less about me. I was just another shit teacher who didn't like them. And the feeling was mutal. Maureen and Joanne are too wrapped up in themselves to realize that there's another bloody person in the world. Roger and Mimi are just fucking wrapped up. Mark ... well, he's alone. But he can't get involved with me because he's scared of death. He's seperated himself from the world. He watches us from behind the camera lens. He's too fucking afraid of life to live it. Just the shadow of Roger. I remember him back in high school. He was always 'Roger's Friend'. Not Mark. Never Mark.  
  
Never Collins.   
  
I tried to kill myself again last night. I'm just so sick of this world where nothing can just live and let live. I was the fucking fag back in school. And I still am. Why can't they see that it doesn't matter? Must my sexual prefference be the thing that makes me what I am? I slice the razor blade across my arm and I love the color that it makes. Blood and Chocolate. Scarlet and brown. I'm so sick. I know in that blood is what makes my life so fucking short. I want to cleanse myself. I want to get the sickness off. But I can't turn to drugs ... Angel ... Angel always said that they were the root of everyone's problems. After all, didn't we all know someone we love or ... loved that died because of them? Mimi, Roger, I don't even know if the others did them. But as much as I hate them now, I love them. I can't see them die.   
  
That's why I'm here. That's why I'm sitting in me and Angel's old bed, hiding in the darkness. A single candle flickers on the table providing my only light. It's so pathetic. I hate my life. I hate me. I hate Mimi for living. I hate Angel for dying. I hate Mark for being so fucking alone. I hate Maureen for being so happy.   
  
But I love them all.   
  
I can't stop that. I don't know why. I want to. I want to just hate them and nothing more. I want to hear someday that they've all been killed and not care. But I do. I would. I'd probably kill myself for real if that happened. It's not fair. If I didn't have so many ties to this world then I'd end it here. I'd slice the razor deeper. I'd finish off the sleeping pills. I'd jump in front of a car. But I can't. And I know I'll never be able to. I need a release. I need to get out of here. I want to go to Santa Fe. Start a resturaunt like we used to plan. But I can't leave them here. Maybe they don't remember me, and I don't need them ... But I need them more than anything else. I. I. I. I sound so fucking selfish. Angel was never conceited. Ever! But here I am thinking of myself. It's not fucking fair! Why can't I just be someone I like? Not just a worn, washed out, ex-teaching Robin Hood. So fucking obsessed with his dead lover that he re-fucking-wires the ATM with his name.   
  
A-N-G-E-L.   
  
I wish Angel was still alive. She was my better half. Everything I always wanted in someone. Considerate, understanding, sweet, miscveious, intelligent, cunning, kind, clever, generous, funny, perfect... But now she's gone. And with her ... I'm gone, too. 


End file.
